The Perils of Francine
by DavidPresents
Summary: When Francine Smith puts on a Penelope Pitstop outfit, Roger dresses as the Hooded Claw and makes her a damsel in distress! Will Stan come to his wife's rescue or wind up in a worse bind? Rated for light bondage.


"Hey-yelp! HEY-YELP!"

"Missus S! What is it?" asked Jeff Fischer, hurrying into the kitchen.

"Sorry to alarm you, Jeff, just getting into character." Francine Smith turned the bacon and eggs in the frying pan. "I got a Penelope Pitstop outfit and I'm practicing her personality for when I put it on. Something to do as I make breakfast, I mean, this little ol' breakfast," she corrected, having a try at Penelope's honeyed Southern accent.

Jeff looked hungrily at the bacon and eggs, but poured himself a bowl of organic granola and soymilk instead. His wife, Hayley, kept him on a strict vegan diet. "Why'd you get a Penelope Pitstop costume?"

The truth was that Francine's husband, Stan Smith, had said he wanted to see her as the cartoon racer in the bedroom, but Francine decided a slight lie was in order. Her son-in-law's behavior was strange enough already. "It's for the CIA costume ball," she said brightly.

"The CIA has a costume ball? What's Mister S going as?"

"He didn't get a costume, Jeff. He's going as one of the Ant Hill Mob, and they all wear suits and ties and he has plenty of those already."

Stan Smith wandered sleepily into the kitchen as Francine finished her explanation and accepted a plate and a kiss from his wife. He wore a dressing gown and a day's worth of unshaved stubble. "Ah, the Ant Hill Mob!" he exclaimed, pouring a cup of coffee. "What could be more heroically American than a group of gangsters acting as bodyguards to an adventuring heiress? Those seven rollicking rescuers, Clyde, their fearless leader, along with, Snoozy, Yak Yak, Pockets, Zippy, Softy, and, um, and…"

"Good morning, Mister S," said Jeff Fischer.

"…and Dum Dum," Stan concluded, giving his son-in-law a loathing look that suggested he might enjoy his granola better if he ate it somewhere else, preferably in another house in another state. "Keeping Penelope out of danger. Rather strange, though, that they never figured out that Penelope's guardian, Sylvester Sneakly, really was the Hooded Claw."

"Morning, all!" said Roger, the grey alien who lived with the Smiths. He opened the refrigerator and slammed it shut again. "Slight problem, Francine," he announced, holding up a red bottle. "This is low-sodium tomato juice and you know I can't drink this."

Francine sat at the table beside her husband. "I bought the low sodium because it's healthier than the regular, Roger."

Roger closed his eyes for an annoyed second. "You talk about healthier food after frying eggs in bacon grease? Look, I could argue, but a more effective way to make my point would be to…." He splashed the tomato juice onto Francine.

"Roger! That was completely out of line!" yelled Stan.

"That was my last clean dress and I need to go grocery shopping this morning," added Francine, wiping ineffectively at the mess.

"Good to hear you're going shopping because, news flash, we're out of tomato juice," said Roger.

"I can't go like this and I can't wait to shop until after the laundry," complained Francine. "We have plans for the afternoon. Stan, if I make you a shopping list, can you go?"

Stan gave a loud, melodramatic moan. "Francine, what's the point of taking a day off from work if I have to run around and do your chores for you?"

Francine sighed. Her daughter, Hayley, and her son, Steve, had already left, and had busy days of classes. She wasn't about to ask Roger to put on one of his costumes and shop for her, not after what he had just done! That only left….

"I'll be glad to do it, Missus S," Jeff offered.

"Don't send him," Stan said derisively. "The only way he'd bring back the right anything would be by a freakish accident."

"No thank you, Jeff," said Francine. "I'll go myself. I just remembered I have one clean outfit left."

She finished her breakfast and started the laundry. "Might as well complete the image," she decided, gathering her blonde hair into a ponytail. She wore a pink minidress, pink tights, white gloves, and white go-go boots. She wrapped a purple scarf around her neck and placed an old-fashioned racing helmet, complete with goggles, on her head.

"Wow, Missus S, you look hot!" Jeff exclaimed as she walked back into the kitchen.

Stan lowered his newspaper and stared at his wife in disbelief. "You can't go out dressed like that! That's for the bedroom only. It's entirely too revealing to wear in public."

"Stan, be sensible," Francine replied. "Someone has to do the shopping, and since you won't go, I have to. It's either Penelope or the naughty nurse, and nursie's way nastier than Penelope."

"You can't go out that way," Stan insisted. "As the man of the house, I forbid it. I order you to change your clothes! Francine, don't walk out like that! Don't start the car and drive away. She started up the car and drove away," he complained to Roger.

"Wow, way to lay the law down there, Judge Roy Bean," Roger said sarcastically. "So, Francine's Penelope Pitstop. Interesting. 'Scuse me." He left the table and disappeared into his attic bedroom.

"Francine's behavior is completely inappropriate," Stan told Jeff. "I'd better see what happens. No time for a shave, but I'll get dressed and head to Red State Groceries and make sure all that goes on is grocery shopping. Well, just don't sit there, get dressed too. I'll need backup for this mission, and you're all that's available."

…..

"I still don't see why I have to come along," complained Jeff, "to help you spy on your wife because you don't trust her."

"I'm not spying and I do trust Francine," Stan said. "It's… oh, look, sardines, two for one. Francine ought to stock up on these. When we catch up with her, we'll sneak some in her cart."

Jeff tugged uncomfortably on his collar. "Or why I have to wear a suit and tie to hang out with you."

"We're not hanging out," said Stan. "We're protecting Francine, like the Ant Hill Mob protected Penelope and like the CIA protects America, so we need to be dressed like manly protectors. That means a suit and tie."

"Who are we protecting her from?" asked Jeff.

"We're protecting her from any men who get ideas from that naughty outfit she's wearing. First, we have to find her, though, so keep pushing that shopping cart and try to act as much like a normal shopper as you can and look for Francine without her seeing you. She has to be down one… quick, turn in here! There she is, flirting! No wait, she's talking to a harmless old woman, all short and gray. Still, something might be going on. We'll hide behind this stack of canned peaches and eavesdrop on them."

"Pardon me, Pitstop, could you perhaps possibly pluck for poor me a pint of piquant pineapple and papaya pieces placed positively pinnacle-like on that preposterously high shelf, pretty please?"

"Why, glad to help, you sweet little ol' lady," Francine said, trying her Southern accent again. She was practicing acting like Penelope in every way, which included being deceived by all disguises, so she pretended she didn't realize that the "sweet little ol' lady" was actually Roger wearing a woolen shawl and a gray wig.

Francine stretched to reach the elusive can of mixed fruit. Roger spun around and around until he became a gray blur. When he stopped spinning, the shawl and gray wig had disappeared, replaced by a green hat and cape, a purple suit and trousers, a narrow purple mask with eyeholes, and a pair of pince-nez eyeglasses. "Heh, heh, heh," he laughed evilly. "I've got you now, Pitstop!"

"Roger! What are you doing? Put me down" Francine screamed, abandoning the Penelope Pitstop persona as Roger used both hands to lift her off her feet, triumphantly holding her over his head.

"The Hooded Claw, I mean, Roger snatched Penelope, I mean, my wife, Francine!" Stan shouted. "Come on, Jeff, we have to rescue her!"

"Right, Mister S," Jeff agreed, plowing the shopping cart into the carefully stacked peach display. Cans toppled down on Stan, knocking him to the ground and burying him.

"You Dum Dum, why'd you do that for?" yelled Stan, struggling to his feet. "Ow, my head hurts!"

"Sorry, Mister S. I got so excited I reacted without looking," Jeff apologized. "Don't worry, we'll catch up with Roger and Missus S, but could you call me by right name, not Dum Dum?"

"Thanks to you, Dum Dum, the Hooded Claw's made off with Penelope," groaned Stan, holding his head. "How will we find her now? We'll have to somehow, though. When we do, try to actually help! Who knows what terrible peril the Hooded Claw's got her in?"

…..

The Langley Falls Carnival did a brisk business from the throngs who descended upon it from Memorial Day weekend in late May to Labor Day weekend in early September. The rest of the year, it resembled a ghost town. The rides were carted off for use in sunnier climes, the tents folded away, leaving behind only their supporting frames, standing lonely like metal skeletons. There was no reason for anyone to go there then, so it generally was deserted. This particular day, however, it had two visitors.

"You're probably wondering what perilous predicament I've prepared for you this time, Pitstop."

Francine glared down at Roger. "How many times do I have to tell you, Roger, I don't have time for this! Now get me down!"

"Yeah, I'm getting awfully tired of you saying that," Roger announced. "'Scuse me a sec. Be right back."

"Roger! You come back and get me down!" Francine screamed. Ropes bound her legs together and tied her arms against her side. She was suspended several feet into the air, held by a long rope tied about her waist that looped over a metal tent rod. The rope then angled sharply down, tied to a wooden stake in the ground. As she swung slightly back and forth, she could see several enormous metal spikes on the ground directly below her, with sharp tips that glinted evilly in the dim sunlight. "Help! Somebody get me out of here!" she shouted, her words sounding as empty as the deserted fairgrounds where she found herself.

Roger returned quickly, carrying a ladder, which he propped against the bare tent frame. He climbed up nimbly. "It's about time you decided to cut me loose!" Francine said.

"Who said anything about cutting you loose?" asked Roger, slipping a white cloth between Francine's pink lips, completing the gag quickly. He clambered back down the ladder and carried it away again.

Francine looked helplessly around her. She called out for help again, but could only make muffled noises. She tried twisting her arms and legs to escape from the ropes, causing her to swing wildly, but still remaining poised over the spikes.

"Okay, Pitstop, here's the plan," announced Roger when he appeared yet again. "You observe this mouse on his exercise wheel in this cage?"

"Mpfff!" screamed Francine.

"Once I remove the board in front of him, he will see this piece of cheese. He will try to run to the cheese, causing the wheel to spin around. The spinning wheel will provide electricity to this popcorn machine. As the popcorn pops, its level will rise, pushing this lever at the top of the machine. At the other end of the lever is this knife. As the lever moves, the knife will slice through the rope holding you up, causing you to plunge onto the spikes below, thus putting an end to you once and for all!"

"Mpfff!" Francine screamed once again.

"Yeah, I know, this is where you'd normally make some cutely spunky remark, only the gag's stopping you," said Roger. He lifted the board in the cage and the small gray mouse, excited by the sight of the cheese, whirled his legs, spinning his exercise wheel, just as Roger had predicted.

Pop, pop, pop! The popcorn started popping, expanding to fill the machine. The top level was still far from the lever, but rising fast!

"Don't worry, Penelope, we're here to save you!" shouted Stan, racing forward.

"Hang in there, Missus S!" Jeff added, following close behind.

"The Ant Hill Mob, or two of you, anyhow," said Roger. "Luckily I've prepared for your arrival!"

"Mpfff!" Francine screamed in warning.

Jeff stopped and grabbed Stan's arm. "Wait, Mister S, maybe it would be better if we didn't just rush in. There's probably a trap!"

Stan shook off his son-in-law's hand. "We don't have time to stand around and be cautious, Dum Dum! Penelope's in peril from the Hooded Claw and we have to rescue her before she plunges onto those sharp spikes!" He dragged Jeff forward. The pair stepped onto a tent canvas lying flat on the ground. Francine gave a shriek into her gag as she watched her husband and son-in-law disappear into a pit hidden underneath!

…..

Pop, pop, pop! Fluffy white popcorn burst from the cooker at the top of the machine, falling down to fill the compartment below. The level was rising fast; it was dangerously close to nudging the lever Roger had placed inside!

"Thanks for messing things up, Dum Dum!" Stan yelled. "Now we're in trouble, too!"

Stan and Jeff were tied back-to-back, dangling in the air over another set of spikes. "I didn't mess things up!" Jeff said angrily. "I told you to stop and look for a trap!"

"Hi, guys," said Roger, waddling over. "Sorry I don't have a more Rube Goldberg scenario for you, but this all came on rather sudden, so your situation's a lot simpler than Pitstop's. You'll watch her fall onto the spikes, and then I'll simply cut the rope holding you up and you'll land on those below you. Should only be a couple minutes now before that happens."

"You'll never get away with this, Hooded Claw!" Stan said.

"Wow, that's the best you can come up with, 'you'll never get away with this.' Yeah, you've got a promising future, writing screenplays," announced Roger.

"Don't just hang there listlessly, Dum Dum!" Stan ordered. "We've got to get free so we can rescue Penelope. I know you don't have many muscles, but try flexing the few you have. Doing that repeatedly is a good way to escape when tied up." He screwed up his face in concentration as he repeatedly strained and relaxed his arms.

"I don't think that's going to work here, Mister S," said Jeff.

"You're right it won't work, because my plan is perfect," said Roger. "Pretty impressive, huh? Any questions?"

"Yeah, I have one," announced Jeff. "Why does everyone call the character you're supposed to be the Hooded Claw when he doesn't have either a hood or a claw?"

Roger frowned. "Hey, if you're so clever tell me this." He poked Jeff with a finger. "Why does everyone call you Jeff Fischer when you never go fishing? Huh? Yeah, that shut you up pretty quick!"

"Roger, that's a really a great costume you came up with and this death trap is awesome too, but do you think you could just let us go, and Missus S too?" Jeff asked as Stan continued grunting with exertion to escape.

"Mmm, let me think," said Roger, screwing up his face in thought. He tapped a finger against his head and looked at Francine's frantic struggles. "Buy me low-sodium tomato juice, will you? No, she's staying put."

"But Missus S is going to fall any second!" Jeff protested.

"Yeah, I know, isn't it thrilling?" Roger shoveled a scoop of popcorn from the machine into a colorful cardboard container and munched contently. "The best part is, I've got a _salty _snack to enjoy while I watch the show."

"Mpfff!" screamed Francine. The popcorn had pushed the lever; the knife had cut the rope holding her up! She fell several inches as only a thin strand held her up. She swayed wildly, the soles of her go-go boots brushing against the tips of the spikes. Suddenly, the tiny bit of remaining rope snapped! Francine fell, to the ground, surrounded by the deadly spikes!

…..

"NO!" screamed Stan. "Pretty Penelope, done in by the Hooded Claw at last! It's too horrible; I can't look!"

"Don't worry everyone, I'm okay!"

"Penelope, you're unhurt!" Stan said, opening his eyes in wonder to see his wife stand up.

"I fell between the spikes, and used them to cut the ropes binding me," Francine explained, hurrying over to untie him and Jeff. "I was so close to the ground already that the fall didn't hurt."

"Thanks for rescuing me, Missus S," Jeff said when his feet were safely on the ground once again.

"Blast!" said Roger. "This calls for a quick change. 'Scuse me!"

He dashed away, quickly returning in a new costume. He still wore the pince-nez eyeglasses, but the mask and cape were gone. The purple suit was now green, and he wore a brown wig. His voice, however, remained the same as before. "Penelope, dear, I'm so glad to see you're okay!"

"Roger! I've never been so angry with you!" Francine turned to the alien and raised her arm. "You could have seriously hurt us, or worse!"

"Penelope! Stop that!" Stan grabbed her arm. "That's not the Hooded Claw. It's your guardian, Sylvester Sneakly, looking very relieved that you're safe!"

"Um, Mister S, didn't you say earlier that Sylvester Sneakly _was_ the Hooded Claw?" Jeff asked anxiously.

"Kindly Sylvester Sneakly in reality the Hooded Claw?" Stan stared at Jeff in disbelief. "You really are a Dum Dum!"

"Mister S, do you know what's really going on here?" asked Jeff.

"Of course I know what's going on here," said Stan. "The other five mobsters got lost, but you and I got here to rescue Penelope from the Hooded Claw, but got trapped ourselves. Good thing Penelope was resourceful enough to escape and save us. Oh, and then the Hooded Claw disappeared and an instant later Sylvester Sneakly showed up. Talk about a coincidence, huh?"

Jeff frowned. "Just how hard did you get whacked on the head with those cans?"

"Stan got whacked on the head with some cans?" Francine slipped out of Stan's arms. "That explains a lot. I'll deal with you later, Roger. Right now I've got to get Stan home and tend to him." She smiled, thinking of the naughty nurse costume in her closet at home. "I've an idea about something that'll have him feeling better in no time!"


End file.
